He chuckles at my slack-jawed expression. “Okay, then. There’s a chair if you’d like to make yourself more comfortable.”
I lean against the door frame instead. Don’t really trust my legs to make it the three steps to the chair right now.
“How many have you done?” I ask, vaguely fascinated.
“About a hundred.”
“How many do you have left?”
“Another two hundred.”
“Seems excessive.”
“Not really, considering Miriam wants me to spend most of the play shirtless. She told me last night. No pressure or anything.”
He goes back to grunting every time he sits up. My knees go weak.
“When I heard you,” I say, “I thought you . . . um, had a girl in here.”
He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “What?” I watch as a droplet of sweat runs down his neck and onto his chest.
“I thought you were . . .” I bob my head in the “you know” gesture.
He frowns. “You thought I was having sex?” I nod. “In my dressing room?” I nod again. “With someone who isn’t you?” He screws up his face. “Jesus, lady, go get yourself another cup of coffee, because you’re not thinking straight.”
He goes back to his sit-ups. “Besides, this sounds nothing like the noises I make when I’m having sex.”
“What sort of noises do you make, then?”
“Can’t tell you. I want it to be a surprise.” He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Aaaand on that note, I have to go.”
“Really? Wouldn’t you rather come?”
I shake my head, and as I grab the door to close it, he starts moaning. “Oh, God, Liss. Yes. Grab that hard door handle. Right there. Fuck, yes. Wrap your hand around it and pull. Ahhhhh!”
I close the door and shake my head as I walk away. I make a mental note that it’s not cool in any way to be aroused by exercise grunting or dirty talk about doors. It’s a pity my body continues to ignore all logic and reason as far as Liam Quinn is concerned.
I grab the stack of paper off the photocopier, and soon I’m smiling.
Reviews. Lots of them. All of them glowing. Our show is officially a hit, and even though everyone in the cast is excellent, Liam and my brother Ethan, who’s playing Mercutio, are getting all the attention.
It doesn’t surprise me. Hot actors who are also talented as hell? It’s the bedrock on which Broadway was built.
I head backstage and distribute the reviews to the dressing rooms. Actors love reading nice things about themselves. It will put the whole cast in a good mood for the show tonight.
When I get back to my console, side stage, I roll my neck and wince as it cracks. I don’t think I’ve sat down all day, and the dull thud of a potential headache lingers behind my eyeballs.
I jump when large hands curl over my shoulders.
“Relax.” Liam’s deep voice resonates behind me. “You’re so tense you’re going to sprain something. Thank you for the reviews; I’m sure my parents are going to wallpaper their living room with them. I appreciate you taking the time to copy them, so I’m here to do something nice for you.”
Strong fingers dig into my neck muscles, and I bite back a groan. “Oh, my God.”
“Come on now. We’re past that sort of formality. You can call me Liam.”
I close my eyes as he kneads away the tension in my neck and shoulders. It feels so good, it borders on sexual.
“Liam . . . Oh, wow. Uh . . . you should stop.”
“Should I? Why? You seem to be enjoying it, and I’m sure as hell enjoying it.”
“The leading man can’t be seen massaging the stage manager. It’s wrong and unnatural.”
“Who can massage you, then?”
“No one. I’m unmassageable.”
“Hardly seems fair. You have one of the most stressful jobs here, but aren’t allowed a little help to unwind? Fuck that.”
He digs his thumbs into the base of my skull and my eyes roll back into my head. “Ohhhh . . . No, really. This is bad. Stage managers are strange creatures. We thrive on stress, caffeine, and lack of sleep. You can’t mess with that. Make us too relaxed and we fall apart.”
Warm breath and soft lips graze my ear as he whispers, “I’m looking forward to watching you fall apart one day very soon, Liss. Twenty-one days and counting, in fact. I have the closing-night party marked on my calendar.”
He pushes his thumbs into the muscles on either side of my spine, all the way down to the waistband of my jeans. When I bite back a groan, he chuckles. “Are you sure you want me to stop?”
“No, but you should.”
He sighs. “Fine. But first, stand up and come here. Your back is a mess.” I stand and turn to face him. He bends his knees and wraps his arms around me. “This will relieve the pressure on your vertebrae.” He lifts me off my feet and tightens his arms, and a rolling series of cracks travels up my spine. Almost instantly, I feel relief.
He sets me down, and I roll my shoulders. “Wow. That’s much better. Thank you.”